


Three Hours More

by HAL1377



Category: Free!
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, Or almost, Post-Canon, This is the December before their first Olympic summer, harurinpics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-24
Updated: 2016-12-24
Packaged: 2018-09-11 15:22:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,652
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8995645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HAL1377/pseuds/HAL1377
Summary: Somewhere along their Olympic track Haru began cooking meals for two and anticipating Rin as his eager alarm clock before morning runs. The shared apartment arose easily after that, as an organic transition to a life connected. Now they dive toward their dream together in every sense of the word, trekking to once distant destinations. And Haru finds himself waking in London on the day before Christmas Eve to a setting Rin probably intended as romantic. Yet their layover only lasts a day and while Rin has plans in abundance Haru thinks Rin should have just found them a room with a tub.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [quietinthelibrary](https://archiveofourown.org/users/quietinthelibrary/gifts).



> I wrote this keeping in mind the theorized Free! timeline, meaning S2 occurred during 2008 while Haru and Rin are finishing up college by the 2012 London Olympics. This fic covers their 2011 holiday.

It can hardly be considered morning when Rin scales the rungs to Haru’s top bunk and settles a palm along his shoulder blade. A slight shake follows, one Haru knows from experience will grow more persistent should he choose to haul the comforter over his head and ignore. But that is what he always does anyway. Content in the warmth and patterns they have built around one another. Even if Rin never makes anything easy.

The usual grumble follows, though hushed to keep from rousing any of the six other occupants in their shared hostel room. Rin shoves at him again until a small opening emerges from the covers for his struggle. Through it Haru can perceive the word beyond, an eager face flooded in shadows while dusk clings to the corners of the street outside their window. It could be a peaceful sight had it not been thoroughly interrupted. 

“C’mon Haru,” Rin murmurs, breath low as he gives another shake. “How can you sleep when we could be out exploring London?”

Easily, he thinks, and with respectable reasons. Haru has never considered himself to be a late riser but Rin’s usual propensity to wake far too early has given him fresh appreciation for the days he can skip their morning runs. He fully intends for today to be one of those opportunities. Plus the exhaustion from yesterday’s plane ride has left him with little sleep and severely less patience. Haru is not certain whether he is more irritated by the rigid mattress or Rin’s insistence. Right now they feel equally at fault. 

“Hey! _Haru_ ,” Rin cuts a sharp whine with his volume tiptoeing ever higher. Uncontrolled yet somehow endearing, one of the many unfair qualities Rin tenaciously claims as his own. His complaint is followed by more stubbornness, more nudging, more snubbing, and an unwelcome elbow prodding Haru’s side.

Until something wet is dripping across Haru’s exposed cheek and a sturdy weight deposits itself on his back. Rin plants himself atop the curve of Haru’s body, stretching out just to be frustrating. Freshly showered hair skitters in damp lines that work into Haru’s nose and he is fairly certain those ambitious fingers that have begun to drag up the sides of his t-shirt will be tickling him at any moment. 

He sneezes.

Rolls over.

And is crushed in a manic hug.

Sometimes Haru remembers why he thought he hated Rin when they were twelve. 

Overwhelming love is remarkably easy to mistake for abhorrence when it occupies so much of your life. For Haru, anyway. Any emotion that rattled him enough to actually _feel something_ had not been welcome. Rin certainly brought plenty of those for him. Inspiration, consolation, challenge, anticipation, joy, and right now, annoyance.

“Stop,” he grumbles into a pillow, refusing to adjust so Rin can hear him better. It matters little; he should know what Haru means in any case.

Haru senses Rin shake his head as more specks of water come to freckle every visible part of him where the blanket has been tugged away. “Nope,” Rin replies, popping the P with his lips like mint gum. “You already missed our run and I’m not spending the rest of my holiday in your bed.”

That should not make Haru’s ears flush with a dull coral stain, though they probably have. Another upsetting side effect from Rin that Haru has needed to come to terms with over the years. Or at least one he has been trying to work through with limited success. Whenever he thinks he has it figured out, Rin ups the game. Haru finds he does not mind adapting because each time Rin proves they can be overall happier, haler, stronger together than alone. And occasionally it gives Haru the chance to surprise Rin too. He promised himself he would do exactly that on this trip.

But right now Haru is _tired_. He does not want to care that their layover in London will only last a day. That Rin probably planned this just to be romantic a day before Christmas Eve. That the new year along with new coaches will arrive in a week and there will be even more to prepare than before. Because the 2012 Olympics will come with the summer and it is all Rin’s fault that Haru is involved at all. _(Thank you Rin.)_

He opts to complain at the pillow because it is about the only thing which listens. “Good, they why don’t you get out of _my_ bed,” he mutters, as if anything Haru does could ever close a conversation with Rin.

“Hmm, you know what? I think I just might.” Haru and his brain fogged with fatigue hardly have time to notice the mischievous undertone before Rin’s form evaporates from his side and two stupidly muscled arms yank him over the edge. He does not land on the ground, rather his feet remain somewhere above Rin’s knees as he is hoisted into a fireman’s carry. The knob of a shoulder jabs into Haru’s torso and he huffs out a disgruntled groan. But before Haru can recover Rin is winding a path for them between the other beds and suitcases dispersed across the floor, hefting him like he weighs nothing. 

Haru knows he does not weigh nothing. Maybe he can admit Rin has a paltry 2 cm height advantage yet there is no chance someone who trains as much as they do can be light. So he stares at Rin’s butt in shock since that is about the only thing in his line of vision right now. 

If he had ever given it any thought, Haru may have assumed sometime prior to his teenage years things like this would no longer be very practical. Or even an option. Parents pick up their children or maybe a husband tries to lift his bride over the threshold of their new home. Potential Olympic swimmers do not carry their teammates around just to be aggravating. Except for right now, apparently.

And that one time in high school when Rin ran them around the pool in their jammers.

So Rin is the exception, yet again. Funny how that works.

At least it seems they are past the stage where Rin would comment on Haru’s fish patterned boxers. Particularly as he can feel Rin’s cheek press against the fabric covering his upper thigh when Rin dodges a low chair in their path. Haru is still not completely certain he disagrees with Rin’s assertion trunks are better. Now it is more the principle of the thing than any actual care for the outward appearance. Either is comfortable enough for his taste. But this situation is quickly becoming ridiculous.

“Put me down.”

“Shh,” Rin hisses, dropping Haru on the floor outside the bathroom door. “Don’t wake everyone up.”

“You woke me up,” Haru intones, keen to disappear to the tub for an hour.

Rin has an odd smirk in place when Haru glances back. One eyebrow quirking up to align with an uneven grin that fits his face all too well. “There’s no bath,” Rin says just as Haru is about to open the door.

He glowers. It is true, the room is smaller than most closets though managing to squash a shower, toilet, and sink within the space. The tap is above the toilet and the showerhead appears as though it would fill the total area with a combination of water and steam when turned on. In its entirety the bathroom is about four feet wide, less in the other direction, with just enough height that he does not bump his head. When Rin follows inward, he does. And that makes Haru’s morning a little more humorous. Rin feels no worse but has to duck slightly when he thrusts a toothbrush in Haru’s mouth.

Jacket, scarf, and gloves are piled over Haru’s arms as they leave. An overabundance of excited energy exploding with Rin’s haste. In the near four years since high school, this seems to be one of those pieces which will never change about him. It is kind of nice.

“Gonna be cold out there,” Rin says through a smile that never vacates his face. “And rainy, too bad there’s no snow. It would kind of set the mood right?” He swings the crook of an umbrella over a wrist before locking their passports in a drawer and heaving Haru bodily from the room.

A quick hand snags one of those little orange maps from the counter as they pass, tucking it into a coat pocket. Haru doubts they will need it. Rin tends to have plans. Still he does not comment, merely nods at the funny little statue of a man in the lobby, taking the Oyster Card and glossy paper bag Rin hands him without question.

◢ ◣

The tube doors slide open in repetition of their characteristic movement while a female voice permeates the air to announce, **Now arriving at South Kensington**. Haru settles upon a bench as people shuffle around one another and a heavy booted foot comes critically close to his toes. Careful to avoid the mass, he turns tighter in the seat and plucks the bag out of harms way.

Rin aligns alongside him while the jade skirted girth of a woman drifts over the edge of her chair to territory that should rightfully be his. He adjusts to avoid the pleats of her hem and Haru wonders if Rin has noticed how her burnished pink nails cross over one another. Folding to an intricate arrangement that appears abnormally delicate. Each tip of a nail that peeks from beneath the twist of fingers holds small petals in a very familiar shape and Haru likes the memories they bring to mind.

“Gou would like that,” Rin whispers, apparently considering the same topic and still missing the mark.

Haru shrugs, “They’d look better on you.” Because it is the truth. Rin always opts for dark colors or vibrant reds and they certainly suit him. Yet Haru does not mind being reminded of Rin’s softer sides. The faces he shows when he believes no one to be paying attention. Or when he is simply too overawed to help it.

“You're ridiculous,” Rin says, voice a tad too loud. “Now open the bag, I’m starving.” 

Haru creases back the top as they begin to move, track clacking metrically below. There is a pair of sandwiches, wrapped with slender strings and assorted scones toward the bottom labeled with a stamp Haru recalls from Rin’s ramblings on the plane. 

“Sorry no fish,” Rin babbles, grabbing a sandwich for himself. “But I promise we’ll get to that later.”

It really does not matter. Anything is better than the airplane food they seem to constantly be living off of. Those prepackaged meals are not made with enough calories to cover the diet of an athlete. So when Haru bites into the first bit of real food he has had in well over a day, it is worth it. Rin could probably get away with feeding him most anything.

At the next stop two people slip in to stand amongst the tight stripes of seats. They should hardly be notable, one of moderate height with a rounded stomach and the second nothing but rangy limbs bending like coat hangers beneath a cap of salted hair. The first grasps a fiddle while the other stretches calloused hands around guitar strings, tugging at their loosely attentive audience with ease of habit. Haru gains a meaningful punch to his forearm and can sense Rin’s enthusiasm, urging him to pay attention. 

Small adjustments are made, capo removed and sweater synched tighter around a waist. The bellied man carries his voice to the ceiling and launches it through the tube car without effort. No announcements, no notifying of what everyone is to be in for. Simply song. 

If Haru had much by the way of particular taste in music, this bizarre combination of folk and rock would probably not make the list. Even Rin, with his iPod methodically stuffed by a mixture of foreign songs, would likely find it difficult to say he has heard anything similar before. Still the remainder of sandwich is set in Rin’s lap, eyes bright and beautiful with courtesy. As much as Haru wants to lend interest to the newcomers he finds Rin more captivating. The curve of Rin's mouth mellows while his torso imparts a subtle pressure at Haru’s side. Even in the winter Rin is warm, comfortable though brimming with fire. Intensity despite the calm. Like nothing can be done part way, he has to entirely invest himself. In swimming, in studies, in the passive moments he shares with Haru.

So Haru slides a hand to the minimal space between them, probing for that final connection where no one will see. He squeezes a tender pressure while fingers twine into a hold he always wants. Rin’s response is gentle. Caught in a wistful instant. Haru clasps an apology to that placid palm, _sorry for being grumpy this morning_ , and he knows Rin accepts it when he pushes back.

A few commuters look a bit too carefully at the advertisements placed overhead. But as the track jostles and the music shifts everyone is brought with the melody, carried along to another domain encased in rapid notes and jaunty tunes. And Haru has to hold in a laugh as the song mounts. Because they are just as ridiculous as they were throughout childhood, and the music is abysmal but great, and Rin will not stop smiling even as his foot taps too harsh losing his sandwich to the floor. Cheer tugs and Haru’s mouth and lifts his cheeks to a high arc and what feels like a goofy smirk. This does not help and when Rin begins to chuckle, holding more firmly to his hand, Haru can barely restrain his own sound in the folds of his scarf. So he sits there, in a chair that is shared, with a bag of scones Rin is stealing back, attempting to squelch a laugh in a car full of stoic Brits and a harmonizing Irish duo.

Haru missed his bath, has nowhere to swim, and it may just turn out to be the best day he has had in a long while.

Nearby a young girl, hardly old enough to walk, stands and sways with a delicate attempt at capturing the rhythm. The mother keeps a hand on her daughter’s wrist but pulls out a phone, placing it on one knee to capture an image or video. They share the same ears, both in appearance and interest in melody. Grins widen in waves, passing from one person to the next down the car. 

Haru can just scarcely hear when the woman with pink petaled nails at Rin’s side leans inward, a near quiet, “That’s nice, in’it?” offered to no one in particular.

Rin is beaming at Haru when he responds, a simple “Yeah,” floating up like a bubble from Haru’s chest. He feels weightless, buoyed up by the tide, Rin’s words, and the hand at his side.

Both musicians stutter as the next stop nears, picking up a new, faster pace. They perform as though preoccupied, glances over their shoulders coming with increasingly shortened intervals while the song grows louder and more haphazard. Each instrument is already well worn, guitar displaying a dent where the pick hits down too hard below the guard. Checked tops are also faded, the t-shirts beneath containing holes but still their fervor is fresh. They continue to berate their instruments and sweat through their clothing, forceful to the end.

Rin shifts over in a whisper, “They probably don’t have a license.” 

Indeed when Rin pulls Haru off at their stop the buskers are already packing up. Haru is certain Rin manages to sneak a few pound coins into their cup as instruments are grabbed and surprisingly quick sneakers squeak off the platform. 

Haru minds the gap as he leaves, following while hands remain embraced with one another. He wishes he asked Rin to dance when the girl had begun.

◢ ◣

“It’s the best museum in the world!” Rin proclaims, spreading his arms in a broad arc and gesturing across the stone steps. Haru doubts he has much basis for such assertions. Rin has only been to England once prior and, as with most their travels, the majority of his time was spent training rather than sightseeing.

“Oh really?”

“Well today it is,” Rin says, not looking bothered in the slightest. “Or at least, I think you’ll like it.” 

Haru decides to take his word for it. He has to be honest with himself, a feat he attempts more and more these days, since Rin can be confusing enough without Haru trying to sidestep his own emotions. They are much too far into this relationship for Haru to get caught up anymore. So he is looking forward to whatever is in their immediate future. And beyond that too. 

If the banners outside had not made it clear they were about to enter an art museum, the first step inside would have quashed any inkling this building could be home to anything else. Above the desk a large blown glass sculpture twirls toward the raised ceiling, tendrils of greens and blues meandering around one another in tight loops. It is both enticing and strange, a shape Haru does not stop observing until Rin buys their tickets and happily stuffs one in front of his face. 

“It’s been a while since you’ve gotten to do much with your art. Since we’re on a break I thought it wouldn’t be a bad idea for a change.” He rubs a hand at the back of his neck, a tell Rin has never quite been able to be fully rid of. Haru would not have needed it to know Rin is nervous, that he put a lot of thought into their destinations today. 

Rin glances to his feet, then up again, still holding the ticket Haru has yet to take from him. Haru plucks it away when Rin peers back down, pulling in a short breath as he does.

“I mean I—”

“It’s great Rin,” Haru says. There is no way he would not be interested. This time it is his turn to prompt Rin toward the first room, turning right into an extensive span of stone figures. 

As they walk through Haru begins to wish he had brought a sketchpad. He could easily lose himself in some soundless corner, leaning against Rin’s back and moving the pencil in time with his own thoughts. Though if he added to it now there is little possibility the pages would be filled with anything other than its current primary inhabitant: Rin. That would be ok.

“Hey it’s you,” Rin points at a lazy Greek statue, resting along what was probably the edge of a fountain hundreds of years ago. “Look how bored he is, you always make that face,” he chatters, jabbing Haru’s cheek with a finger.

“No I don’t.”

“You do.”

Haru ganders over Rin’s shoulder, seeking a retort.

“Hah! See you’re doing it right now.”

“Hmm,” Haru muses over another smooth form. “I can’t see it.”

Rin tilts his head, watching, smirk in place.

“This one looks like you then,” Haru says over the remnants of an angry marble baby.

“A cherub? C’mon, at least mine was accurate. Not petty,” Rin grumbles. 

“Mine was accurate.”

“Petty.”

“It has a weird leer and long hair,” Rin looks less than mildly affronted at that, good-natured feelings winning out the battle undoubtedly swamping his mind. “And strong thighs,” Haru finishes, tipping his head forward so Rin can only just hear him.

“Stronger than yours,” he mumbles. “Whose PR is 0.03 seconds faster?”

“I’ll get you next time.”

“Maybe,” Rin grins, pitching an arm around Haru’s back. “But let’s save it. I’d rather challenge you tomorrow.”

They amble slowly onward, keeping hooked together by Rin’s elbow. It is only under the dome of the next doorway that Haru speaks again.

“Maybe I’ll challenge you then.”

“What, are we gonna jump in the Thames on our way out?” Rin nudges Haru’s ribs with a finger, clearly enthusiastic all the same. “I don’t think it’s exactly the cleanest.”

“If you’d just found us a hotel with a pool then it’d be fine.”

Rin releases him, stepping back a fraction to scrutinize Haru’s face. It is a familiar position by now. Haru’s spine propelled back into the wall with all of Rin’s silent force and confusion crashing over him until it finds its mark.

It never takes long.

“You’re still bothered about the bath, aren’t you?”

“No.”

“You are,” Rin says, eyes reflecting his certainty.

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

“No.”

“ _You are!_ ”

A pause then, “A little.”

Haru almost wishes he had not agreed. But Rin would always get it out of him regardless. And he did mean it. He is still exhausted, drained from a buildup of exertion without rest, moving on muscles more stiff than he is ever used to. Haru could have slept away England without a bother for the difference.

“Alright.”

“Alright?”

“Mmm,” Rin nods, slotting alongside Haru once more. “I can’t change our accommodations now. Well I guess we could but neither of us have the money for that.” He slants his head, thoughtful for a beat, and then, “But I can promise you a slow day if that’s what you want.”

He does. He really really does. Even if it also makes him feel a tad guilty. Rin puts so much into him but sometimes he finds his world already sufficiently crowded with no place to add the fragments Rin readily offers up. Though he wishes to.

Going an entire life striving to ignore people makes it arduous to adjust during the span of a handful of years. He has learned how much he wants to, even if it cannot continually be done without silence in between.

They stride on, following the rippling black pen line across the Victoria & Albert Museum map, repeating the same corners and motions Rin had outlined at some point while Haru was not paying attention. Haru can tell that had they spent longer at each point in Rin’s plan he would have been able to play witness to more pieces of fascination. As it is, Rin works to keep his promise. He only taps a few cursory fingers to show what he feels Haru should not miss even now, keeps to Haru’s side so he may avoid the bulk of other tourists, and perpetuates their shift forward. Down the stairs, straight along the hallway, up the stairs, straight again, to the right, keep going until the end, turn left, cross the scaffolding, turn right, do not go too far, stop just in time to take another left then right.

An extraordinary hunched doorway beckons their feet forward while a smattering of curved sconces grace the walls with rectangular shadows. Each illuminates a different photograph, tempting the treasures they hold. Light remains low to protect the art and beneath this measly glow a single woman pauses. She examines aged sepia tones, plotting notes in a booklet while a row of Texans glower stoically back from within. A poncho falls long to her calves and is worn loose, unbuttoned, relaxed. Leaning in more closely still, the slope of her nose rests precariously close to the glass. Eyes lock in a motionless contest to stare down the photo’s occupants. Neither waiver. 

Now Haru also stops to watch, stationary by the entry as he observes. He has beheld Renaissance sculptures, gawked at a hanging Chihuly, crossed by an ancient Islamic rug, and admired Rafael’s paintings. Some perused more than once while Rin turned them in an attempt to quickly access the far wing of the third floor. But at none of these marvels did he pause alone. All the rooms had been filled, overwhelmingly so, with individuals attempting to photograph the magnificent. Haru thinks the only thing they will succeed in taking a picture of will be the back of someone’s head. 

But as the woman moves on and Haru sits atop the faux leather of a bench, he finds himself for once truly alone.

It is pleasant for an instant. Until he notices Rin has gone and there is no crowd for him to seek out that red hair above the rest. And it is all of his most terrible fears that keep him awake on planes and stressful nights. The empty life, the loneliness, the panic. The irrational thought that this is their young school days all over again. Rin opening him up to an entire universe of the best emotions, ones he never asked for, but received all the same. Then leaving Haru abandoned and knowing every facet his life had missed, feeling empty with what he had been content to possess before.

Because though Haru knows they have traveled farther than most through the years and days and hours spent as a team, as _partners_ , he also sometimes wonders what would happen to him now if everything broke again.

A touch on his back.

Then,

“Hey, Haru,” Rin peers down, holding out a small notebook and pencil while his other hand crumples a gift shop receipt to the depths of a pocket. “What’s wrong? I–uh . . . thought you’d like it in here.”

It is as though Haru’s nerves drain over to Rin and somehow it becomes comforting to know Haru is not the only one still figuring things out. Of course they are the same. Processing it all in tandem.

“I do,” Haru says, grasping the offered notebook and snapping the band around its cover, a motion that makes his eyes shine.

“Nanase-Matsouka Haruka are you feeling sentimental? I thought that was my job,” Rin teases, settling beside Haru on their bench as the first paper is given fresh graphite strokes.

“Don’t call me that,” Haru says, attempting to keep his head down and mind clear. One of which becomes a far simpler task than the other.

“You’re right, it should be Matsuoka-Nanase. That’d sound better.”

“Maybe,” Haru replies after a moment. “Or we don’t have to hyphenate, one name is fine.”

Rin blanches, blushing into his sleeve where he cannot possibly think Haru does not notice. The pencil continues its movements, sketching the contours of a landscape photo to their right, shading hills and mimicking the poof of a cloud for every sheep grazing there.

“D–don’t be stupid,” Rin finally manages, face still exorbitantly red. “It’s not even legal anyway.”

It might not be now, Haru thinks. But they could come back in a few years, or find some other country during their travels. Before then it does not particularly matter to him. They are linked by every other meaning of the word. And Haru loves his family, understands his parents have always cared even though they are busier than many. Yet the Matsuokas took him in so readily, so _easily_ , that if he were to trade in one name for another he would gladly accept everything that goes along with it. He knows Rin would do the same.

What Haru says is, “Not yet,” even though what he means is, _We already have each other_.

With that the room thaws to some semblance of silence, a meager handful of clicks sprouting from one lamp flickering in a corner contributes the last residue of outside noise. Rin goes quiet without ever providing a response, inclining himself against Haru to watch the progress of gray across each page. Together the space they create grows comfortable. Completely their own.

Above them the ceiling lofts high, like the rest of the museum, but the walls do not retain their customary monotonous hue. Instead they are a gentle blue, promoting a calm envolope of freedom. And yet, Haru finds himself allowing the pencil to become slack for a minute. Feeling no compulsion to capture that favored image, nor to collect their moment with any more lasting method than memory.  
Beside him, Rin’s boots catch upon smooth diagonals of wood, moving with his musings and preoccupation. When Haru picks up his pencil again he illustrates that instead. Deep russet leather and double knotted laces. Scuffed on the side but repaired with a sturdy hand. A shape Haru knows well even as he rediscovers it every day.

Rin really does fashion their afternoon into the most comfortable scene Haru has held in a while.

And when hours pass Rin brings them both paper cups of tea. 

And when a tour group invades their room, Rin moves them to the watercolors.

And when Haru thinks he may be about to grow hungry, Rin decides it is time they head to the gift shop. Selecting souvenirs for their friends and a bag of almonds for Haru. 

The museum remains large though Haru believes he can now perceive it better. Together they pass under the same glass sculpture as where they began, heading for the exit. Mingling cobalt and olive curls twinkle beneath bright bulbs that glimmer downward from the rounded dome. Minature patterns of shadow and light play across the floor, reflecting off Haru’s shoes and legs as he moves. But the effect only lasts for an instant, confined to its own expanse. He does not mind leaving it behind as they strive toward the sidewalk beyond, for though London is hazy with pedestrians and too many streets to name he is not navigating on his own.

They use the rest of their day downtown, Rin shuffling them in and out of stores just so they can say they went and eventually consuming the promised fish for dinner. Haru decides British food is bland and Rin says Haru’s cooking is better.

Westminster becomes their final tube stop before the hostel, Rin gazing with a wistful air past Parliament toward the old church. Despite the evening black everything is blazing vibrant and alive. Stars have to compete with what blossoms from the pavement, cars, structures, and a ceaseless swell of vitality. Every sliver of that glow contributes a near gold sheen to the planes of Rin’s face as he looks afar. Percolating into each pore as though such brilliance belongs nowhere else. His gravity captures it all. Standing unaware of just how dazzling he is. And how much Haru understands that fact.

“Imagine getting married in a place like that,” Rin muses, voice hushed as he turns the pure power of his luster toward Haru.

“I don’t think it would make much difference,” is all he replies. Since it would not matter, Rin overshines the radiance of wherever he steps regardless.

“No, I suppose not,” he concurs. Though doubtless for the wrong reasons.

Rin leads them across the bridge, past the last of the days tourists snapping final photos. He curves them down to the path along the river where streetlamps have begun to stutter and burn. Every now and then a serene splash blends with the mood, water quivering up to greet them.

“Quite a sight huh,” Rin says, musing and serene. 

“Yeah,” Haru agrees, leaning nearer. River at his side and Rin exactly where he always is. The space between them wanes completely.

“Thanks,” Rin speaks in a moment, both of them caught in the atmosphere. “It still feels nice when I have the chance to share things with you, even if it's nothing special.”

“It is special.” Haru replies, and he means it with every bone.

Rin takes out his phone, checking the time to evade Haru’s stare while his skin blooms pale petals of pink. “We really should’f called everyone earlier. It’s 4:00AM in Japan right now.” 

“Nagisa’s probably keeping them up.”

“Mmm.” A pause then, “You know I took a video of the musicians this morning.” Rin flicks to it and Haru sees a shot of him laughing less discreetly than he hoped, appearing far beyond happy. “I loved this,” Rin says, smile broad as he presses play.

The notes drift over them, music merging with the damp air and the mirroring of stars below and above.

“Dance with me Rin.”

“Wh–what?” 

“Dance with me.”

Rin still looks surprised but gently wraps a hand around Haru’s back. They parallel each other, palms meeting in tandem. And they sway, gradually building to something more solid. Rin and his sister had always been good dancers and Haru feels the benefit of it when Rin spins him out and back. Yet for the most part they keep it simple. Never separating from one another for long.

When the video ends, Rin loops it back to play again.

And again. And again. And again.

Until the night is silent and they stay there anyway, Haru placing his lips on Rin’s temple and savoring the deepening flush he can see despite the darkness.

◢ ◣

The rain meets them before they make it back and Haru ignores the umbrella Rin offers. Both become doused and sodden within minutes but neither hastens, maintaining their measured pace until they are a block away and the challenge comes. Rin thumps Haru’s arm with a fist, punch barely complete before they are off and racing.

They are the last to return, everyone else long since passed out. It seems there are even a few extra additions to their room. What had been eight individual beds has grown to lodge new sleeping faces alongside their boyfriends, or girlfriends, or one night stands. And somehow Rin’s bed has been claimed by a messy haired kid in a ripped t-shirt, currently permeating the air around him with a heavy wiff of whisky. 

Rin glowers. It has no effect on closed eyes.

He could go back and complain at the front desk but somehow Haru does not think that is an option he is contemplating. Haru certainly will not do it for him. So he crawls into his bunk and leaves Rin to stew below, doubting it will take very long.

“What are you doing?” Haru asks as Rin raises himself up to takeover half of Haru’s space.

“What do you think? Seems pretty obvious to me.”

“No.”

“C’mon Haru,” he says, voice muted so no one will stir. “We need to call the gang anyway.”

Haru mutters a short, “Not my problem, you’re the one who wanted the bottom anyway,” before rolling back into the space Rin is still trying to occupy. Not that it actually matters. Back home the second bedroom in their apartment had long since turned into a guest room anyway.

Plus he should know by now to expect Rin will simply make himself comfortable on top of Haru if that is what it takes. Right now, it does. 

A twin bed is really too cramped, but as they squish together it becomes less uncomfortable and more . . . more tender.

When Rin opens FaceTime, Nagisa is there to answer, dragging an enthusiastic Gou and groggy Rei into the frame. Haru watches as they prattle about plans for the new year, as Makoto rushes in with two kittens between his arms, as Nagisa shows off his improved makeup skills and Rei complains about being the mannequin, as Gou reminds them to visit in a week, as Rei protests the hideous postcard Rin sent, as Nagisa tells them it was perfect, and as Rin’s smile bursts brilliant and endures. 

Rin falls asleep that way and in the end it is Haru who reaches over to snag the phone before it falls, waving a soundless goodbye while Nagisa sniggers.

Though Haru lived in Tokyo throughout college, he had never quite grown used to the sounds of a city. He prefers the distant return of the ocean and the high chirps of insects at his window. Tonight the world outside brings harsh dins and a littering of conversations in an unknown language that buzz over the whine of vehicles jumping red lights. Drunken giggles fizzle inward to permeate a too stiff mattress, a pillow flattened paper thin, and a comforter stained with indiscretion. 

Through it all the easy hum of Rin’s breathing layers atop the disquiet with a soothing repetition. There is hardly a gap between their bodies but Haru inclines his head to notch in the crook of Rin’s neck and shoulder. He melds there, pulling Rin’s comfort toward himself. Borrowing just enough to relax. 

He watches the rise of Rin’s chest with each intake, the way his arms adjust like he knows Haru is there, and the light play of an arc at the crease of his mouth. Every action natural and complete. It is a scene he has grown more used to over time. They shared blankets as children, pretended not to touch that first night in Australia, and gradually invented more excuses to sleep nowhere else. Haru thinks it only makes sense the boy who first taught him the value of a dream they now pursue would be the one he shares everything with.

Still neither of them are yet known well enough to earn much money from sponsors and their travels are on a budget for good reason. Back home Rin works part-time while they complete their final year at university and Haru remains uncertain how he does it all, how he holds together. Bounding around with that perpetual smirk and double the workload from classes alone. Because while Haru had opted for a simple fine arts degree that would probably not be of huge use later in life, Rin pounced on a major of law and foreign policy while still somehow slipping in an English minor. 

Rin hardly slept the months after he transferred back. He had claimed his victories in Australia and was well ready to rejoin familiar shores. Gather, and move on again. Haru had been exasperated enough by dorm life after a mere year. People were tiring to deal with during the day and coming back to a rowdy floor after swim practice without access to anything but grimy communal showers had been beyond grating. He wanted out and Rin was in need of a more permanent place to stay. The solution arose clearly: an apartment for two. Split the bills and commute together between classes, practice, and home. _Their home._

It came to imply that when Haru was doing laundry, he would throw in Rin’s clothes as well. Which seemed to make a great deal of sense, as half of them ended up in Haru’s room regardless. And when Rin arrived late from a shift, he would bring dinner, knowing Haru had been painting since he got home and had stopped for nothing else in between. Time often turning to as loose a concept for him when creating as it did in the water. More than that it meant Haru would cook steak on weekends, Rin put out cups of tea after his morning jog, and they jousted daily about the little things. Like who had made their water bill too high that month (Haru), whose hair always got stuck to the pillows (Rin), and whose feet were the wrong temperature when they huddled up on the couch watching a movie (arguable). Nowadays Haru carries spare hair ties in the bottom of his gym bag and Rin owns a few extra shirts he calls stupid but wears often regardless. They had been a gift and Haru likes the aesthetic of the odd sea creatures across the front.

Rin is wearing one now. A stark navy corded with tentacles of a seaweed monster stretching in bands that bow around his ribs. Haru thinks this one may be a favorite. Perhaps it is the barbed teeth. He likes those too.

Haru adjusts gradually, not wanting to wake Rin. But even as they are crumpled together in the narrow bed it cannot ease the need. He has to _touch_ him. Simply being there is sometimes not enough, even though Rin’s existence has proven sufficient to bolster Haru through plenty. But when the world seems vacant and the outside noises are wrong Haru is towed by that irrational fear. It is as though Rin could disappear all over again and Haru would be truly alone. 

So Haru reaches a hand, thinks of capturing him under the sakura tree once more. It begins on Rin's shirt, the edge where it has rucked up to bare his navel. The skin is faintly tanned there, a contour of white etched where his jammers would be. Yet beneath their mutual blanket Rin’s sweatpants have shucked lower, aligned with the defined V of his torso and the roll of a well muscled abdomen. Haru allows his fingers to linger there, to curl into the skin as Rin subconsciously turns with his sleep. Haru wonders if he dreams.

Of course Rin always does.

And Haru smiles at that thought, vulnerable and wide because the emotion arrives raw, open, ready to offer should Rin stir. It cannot be held, everything too full and overflowing. He squeezes it behind the soft skin atop Rin’s collarbone, noting how even after hours away from water Rin smells of chlorine. Of flowery soap and clear air. Crowded days and affectionate nights. He breathes in, sensing the familiar piece of home Rin carries for him. And loving every part.

It brings the tranquility, the reassurance he seeks. Because that scent has become woven through the fibers of Haru’s clothes, embeds in his lips, surrounds their apartment. Rin can never leave without him.

Haru closes his eyes, intending to find sleep when he hears the faint murmur of his name.

“Haru?”

A palm settles on Haru’s bicep, hot as Rin ever is. The motion comes gradually, Rin rotating from his back until he bends to the side, knees grazing Haru’s while their noses nearly brush. Both bodies forming the exact opposite but symmetric of the other.

Rin’s hand skitters down Haru’s arm until it finds the spot where his fingers remain placed on Rin’s stomach. It is fluid when Rin accepts Haru’s hand, both careful in the connection but holding strong. Watchful movements and unspoken words bridge between them, each tilting in and waiting a beat. Until Haru is kissing the point of Rin’s nose, tracing a line over his cheek and claiming a single breath before Rin returns a tap to the crinkle at the niche of Haru’s mouth.

“You’re stunning when you smile,” Rin sighs, selecting the slant of Haru’s jaw for his next kiss. His soft mouth follows that contour, stopping to nose at the hair behind Haru’s ear before gifting one final caress to that spot. Like a secret between them.

An exhale. And Haru is not certain whose lips lent that air to the night.

It feels right.

Haru allows his hands time to travel, outlining delicate skin until he meets the cotton of Rin’s shirt. In the moment he may begrudge that thin fabric, even if by wearing it Rin exhibits subtle care for the present he often complains about. So Haru pushes it up to uncover the firm strength of Rin’s chest, sprinting his palms over Rin’s sides all the way to his freshly shaven armpits. And he waits.

It could be that with the sharing of a dream, of a future too bright for one, they somehow wove their souls to their equal. Red string twining until joined at every point. Because Rin removes his shirt without any need for Haru’s verbal urging. He grasps upward with the collar, core contracting as that last impediment is released from his frame.

Rin’s fingers hook Haru’s shirt next until Rin’s warmth translates to his. Arms coveting one another, reminding themselves of everything they have learned, of each limb they have charted, and of how skin feels when it moves against its match.

And Haru puts his hands to use. The fingers with which he cooks, paints, and swims kneading into muscles Rin has crafted for years. Perfect even before Haru had been offered the chance to know just how faultless they truly are.

He wants to convey something with his touches, offer up anything he has left. Haru rolls inward, Rin following as though they had long since been melded together. Legs snag and knot and tangle while they shift as near as they can. The surge of Rin’s thigh slots along the dip at Haru’s pelvis, chests become flush against one another while arms and hands and fingers continue to pursue a seamless embrace.

The wisp of a name breaches once more, this time Haru’s voice offering, “Rin,” with the next thrum of their pulse. And their mouths find place again so Haru does not hear Rin’s response, rather relishes it on his tongue. Tasting the tender juncture between them along with each sigh and hum that follows. 

An exhale, an inhale.

Another touch.

Neither can speak again, atmosphere too complete even in the absence of admissions. It does not matter. They already guard everything there is to know about the other. The evidence scattered across continents, from their first homes in Iwatobi, to the apartment they keep in Tokyo, to every place they travel and swim, all the way to the backpacks on the floor below and the tiny gold promise Haru keeps zipped secure where Rin does not yet know it waits.

For now Haru steadies his movements against Rin, keeping them there as long as he can. It is inevitable to think of tomorrow. Of the morning and how they will move on again. Yet it is the moments existing beyond the perception of time that he reveres most. Harboring them wherever he can. Like swimming, loving Rin is what he is destined to do. A decision he would have shaped regardless. Through irritated looks and profound initial intolerance. But his final crucial choice nonetheless.

All he wants is the heft of Rin’s body, the silence of their kisses, and the surf of a far off ocean. 

And together they claim them all.

◢ ◣

The wind traverses London streets like a large cat stalking its next meal. Snarls come in bursts while Rin’s hair is wrenched from its ponytail to fling across his face. It is kind of a nice spectacle, though the temperature makes Haru’s fingers knit into fists, bundled to protect against the rampant cold of a determined winter day.

“It’s so much worse than yesterday,” Rin near-yells over the next gust. “Wanna stop in there? I just checked and our flight is already delayed three hours.”

Haru does not bother looking in the direction Rin’s finger points, already nodding and glad of any potential stop from the chill. As the store comes into view he remembers passing it on their first day. Enough time has elapsed since then, and circumstances are sufficiently altered, that he looks upon the tacky turquoise paint more favorably. If there is a chance to encounter some heat beneath that roof he will take it.

A step across the threshold brings Haru in immediate contact with a radiator hidden behind the craggy wooden door. He sidles up to it, loosening the hold on his bag in an attempt at delicate submersion into warmth, but within this tiny shop nothing passes by unnoticed.

Behind the counter a woman is organizing fudge but still manages to take in all of her surroundings with ease. She greets them, blond hairs peaking out from beneath a straw Panama hat when she squints upward. Glasses perch a mite too close to the edge of her nose but Haru approves of the striped apron worn atop a neatly ironed blouse. Overall he would probably call her kind.

“Would you like to try some?” She offers up a crisp platter, its contents a wan honey bronze with a smattering of nuts shaved thin over the top. “Just out’o the oven.”

They accept though Rin slyly passes off his own piece, never having grown out of his distaste for sweets. Haru does not really want both but keeps himself content by refusing to move from the radiator as the woman gabs.

“So you two are tourists I take it? I’m a townie, born and raised. Kind of figured if you end up in the best city on Earth, why move.” She laughs to herself and Haru looks over to see Rin buying a full box of fudge.

“We’ve enjoyed it here,” Rin says, selecting another flavor and winking at Haru.

“I would hope so! Though you didn’t pick the best time to come, what with the construction for the Olympics and all. But it’ll be a beauty come summer.”

“Oh we’ll be back,” Rin replies passing over payment and taking the package now tied with a gaudy teal ribbon to match the shop’s decor. “Can’t miss it.”

“Yeah, I always try to catch the gymnastics myself. Took two days off’r work for it last time and that was just to watch the tele.”

“We prefer the swimming,” Rin says in what Haru knows is a gargantuan understatement, even though he only understood about a third of their conversation. 

“Yeah? You find time to make it to the aquatics center while you were here?”

“Not quite, I would have liked to but—”

“It’s really not that far!” She spring in, all earnest gusto. “Take the bus until you get to the central line and Hainault. You can use the bus again at Lewisham or it’s a bit of a hike.” A shake of the head, then, “Maybe I’ll draw yer a map.”

She twitches a piece of wax paper from under the counter. Tiny logos are stamped across in narrow diagonals but she ignores them, flipping it to the other side. The felt tip of a marker moves mechanically, as though her true calling was meant to pull her from the kitchens and to a drafting table. A double line denotes the destination. 

Rin takes the extended sheet while she explains once again the intricacies of a route she knows well. Haru merely studies the complexities of his sneakers and tile below.

“Take care,” she calls when they depart, returning to the advancing gale.

In what Haru deems an idiotic move, Rin removes his own scarf as they begin walking, tucking it under an arm to fiddle with the box and its ridiculous bow. “We still have a few hours. Maybe more if we get delayed again,” Rin says, question clear but unnecessary.

Of course they have to go. So instead Haru responds, “Why did you buy that,” hand indicating the box Rin is currently jostling into his backpack.

“Mom will like them.” A breath before, “I think Dad would have too.” The statement is relayed simply but it would be impossible to mistake its weight.

Rin’s hand is hot when he clasps it against Haru’s. Though Haru knows gestures like this often make him embarrassed, that Rin hardly instigates his more guarded forms of affection, this one is important. 

“He would have liked you too,” Rin says.

Somehow this route of thought had not been explicitly broached before, but as it arrives Haru feels confident in what he replies.

“We should go visit him again, after we win gold. I think he would like that better than fudge.”

It is a given Rin is crying. The soft type, the quiet type, the type Haru has grasped when the world slides away and they have privacy for themselves alone. Rin's fingers are rough when they wind his own scarf around Haru's neck, over the one Haru already wears. It is unnecessary but care layers through every motion and there is no chance Haru will ever let that go. So he allows Rin to dampen his shoulder until the tears abate and in that time Haru fixes his hand to the back of Rin's head. Holding them together through that connection and the palms still fastened against each other.

And they walk on. Together.

**Author's Note:**

> Both of the prompts for this fic were so good it was difficult to pick! I am sure this ended up fairly far from what you intended and they did not quite make it swimming (though they are on their way). Guess it just seemed like an opportunity to show how their relationship persists even without that integral part. Still I hoped you enjoyed it.
> 
> Thank you for reading!


End file.
